In the Bleak Midwinter
by Aurora West
Summary: In the bleak midwinter of the twenty-sixth century, two Vorta meet in front of Notre Dame de Paris.


Disclaimer. _Star Trek: Deep Space Nine_ is the property of Paramount.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

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In the Bleak Midwinter

Eris stared upwards through the swirling snow as couples strolled past her, arm-in-arm and talking gaily, bundled up against the chill as she was not. Humans, Vulcans, Andorians, Trill, Bajorans, Tellarites, Caitians, Zaranites, Cardassians, Betazoids—she continued to be amazed at the sheer variety of alien species making their home on Earth, in Paris especially, though she shouldn't have been. The Dominion had its share of diverse worlds as well, but somehow she hadn't expected it from the Federation. Starfleet had always seemed so human-dominated to her, perhaps less so in recent years, but humanity certainly made up the bulk of their ranks. Earth was different; Earth seemed to be a home or destination for every species in the cosmic neighborhood, and some far beyond it. Her presence there was proof enough of that, she supposed.

She was standing at a place she had been many times since coming to Earth to serve on the Dominion ambassador's staff, but this was the first time she'd been there in the winter, in the snow, on what, she gathered, was the eve of a major religious holiday, even in the secular Federation. A human woman who had become her friend in the past several months had tried to explain it to her, but when Eris had pointed out that all Vorta were born without anyone having sexual intercourse as well, Lieutenant Downy had put her head in her hands and laughed long enough that Eris became slightly nonplussed.

A snowflake landed in her eyelashes and she blinked it away, feeling it melt. Parvis Notre-Dame had a certain tranquility at night. She always came at night. During the day the square was filled with tourists marveling at the cathedral's architecture, taking holoimages, or sprawling in the grass, provided it was warm enough and not raining. But at night the square took on a different tone; quiet, with a dim light from inside Notre Dame de Paris illuminating the cathedral's rose window with a soft glow. She knew it must be very beautiful; the edifice of the church with its tripartite, arched doors crenellated with gargoyles and religious figures; the towers where the bells still rang. The Dominion ambassador to the Federation had introduced her to those, and when she'd pointed out that they couldn't appreciate the music, he'd shrugged, stared into the watercolor blue Parisian summer sky, and replied, "I'm trying."

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering despite the fact that she'd been determined not to get cold. Not that there wasn't something to enjoy in the shivering itself. So much of her seven lifetimes had been spent in space—to be planetside, to feel sun and rain and wind and snow—that was something that she had learned enough to cherish.

And Earth was, she had to admit, an easy to place to like, for all of the reasons that a myriad of earlier visitors to the planet had probably rhapsodized about many times. The people walking past her barely gave her a second look; or if they did, it was a smile and a nod; proof of how much things had changed between the Federation and the Dominion. The first time she'd come to Earth, early in the twenty-fifth century, the glares of mistrust had followed her everywhere. Now, a hundred years later, there was nothing unusual about a Vorta in Paris—there had been an official peace treaty for the last thirty years, and ambassadors for nearly that long to both polities. It probably helped that the ambassador and his staff weren't escorted by Jem'Hadar. They still gave humans, as Lieutenant Downy had once succinctly put it, 'the willies'.

Eris drew in a deep breath of cold air and glanced around. There were fewer people out now; few enough that she felt alone in the square. Colored lights strung up on several side streets of the Île de la Cité reminded her of a long-ago and no longer celebrated Vorta festival, a memory so hazy at this point that she wondered if it was even hers. Then again, it had to be. Vorta weren't taught their own history the way other species were, and certainly not their pre-Dominion history. That was an all but irrelevant time, useful for the template personalities it had provided, but little else.

Standing in front of Notre Dame de Paris, a site with a gloriously rich history that stretched back millennia, she couldn't help feeling that there was something sad about that.

"I always took you to be more sensible than to stand out in the snow in December," a voice suddenly said behind her.

Eris turned and regarded the Vorta standing there. Snowflakes were catching in his hair and even her aesthetically challenged eye appreciated the contrast of white on black. "Ambassador," she said with a twitch of a sly smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I brought you a coat," he said bluntly, holding it out to her.

For a moment, she considered thanking him and demurring, but there was an expression of such earnest concern on his face that she took the coat from him and slipped it on. "Don't look so disapproving, Weyoun. A little cold never hurt anyone."

"Vulcans," he pointed out. "And those Marfikans; apparently they _literally_ cannot be exposed to air that's under forty-five degrees."

The coat _was_ nice; now only her fingers were cold, and her ears and nose, but it was a nice feeling. It was a nice feeling that Weyoun had found her to make sure she was warm enough, too. Light refracted through the snowflakes falling between them, sparkling like a necklace he'd once given her and that she had supposed was very pretty. She supposed this snow was very pretty, as well, if the expressions on people's faces as they'd looked around at it had been any indication. "I suppose we're lucky we're Vorta, then."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Obviously."

The two of them stood there for a moment, watching the silent snowfall. The flakes' landing was too delicate even for Vorta hearing to distinguish. Eventually, Weyoun remarked, "I did the same thing my first year here."

She glanced at him. "Stood out in the snow? I'd assumed as much. You've never been that sensible."

"_I_ had an excuse. I haven't seen snow since—what was that planet called?"

"Moon," she corrected him. "Vekkat Fifteen A."

He gestured vaguely; possibly at the falling snow, possibly towards the sky and the distant Vekkat system, which she hadn't thought about in lifetimes. "That was at least three hundred years ago."

"Mm," she said. "I see." She thought the arch of her eyebrow was effectively indicating quite the opposite.

Weyoun smiled with just a tinge of self-deprecation and took a step closer to her, and she turned to face the cathedral again just as the bells began ringing. His warmth at her side was familiar and welcome, and her lips curved upwards in a small, private smile. Vekkat Fifteen A _had_ been a long time ago; another night she'd stood with Weyoun in the snow, though Weyoun Two, she thought, wouldn't have followed her to make sure she was wearing a jacket. And her second clone, she thought, probably wouldn't have taken it if he had. Maturity, she supposed, of a sort.

"There's some sort of holiday here tomorrow," he remarked, following her gaze upwards towards the rose window. "One of those archaic customs that's survived on Earth."

Glancing over at him, she said, "I know." She slipped an arm through his. "It's called Christmas. As best as I can tell, it's a holiday about…peace. And love. And something about a virgin birth, but that part didn't seem to make very much sense."

"Peace and love," he said musingly, as the fingers of his other hand closed around hers. "That sounds exactly like the sort of holiday humans would invent."

Wind gusted across the square for a moment, blowing snow into Eris's eyes and stinging her cheeks and ears, while Notre Dame's bells peeled, descending in a ringing run. "I suppose you find that predictable."

He looked at her. "I find everyone somewhat predictable after eleven clones." The strains of a song drifted out into the night from the cathedral and Weyoun's fingers tightened around hers. She leaned closer to him until their shoulders touched. "Even you, my dear, but in the best possible way."

With a snort, she said, "What high praise."

He pulled her closer. "Which is not to say that I _always_ find you predictable."

Eris reached over and brushed snow off Weyoun's shoulders. "And would you expect me to suggest that we partake in this archaic holiday's celebration?"

The doors to the cathedral creaked open and humans began exiting, some bowing their heads against the snow. A few children ran out and began packing snow into balls and then throwing them at each other while their parents watched. Everyone, Eris couldn't help noticing wryly, was so happy. That _was_ typical of humans.

Weyoun watched them for a moment, then turned to her. "Actually, that wouldn't surprise me all that much. You've always been anthropologically minded."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled, enjoying his proximity. The Dominion ambassador to the Federation and his aide didn't generally care to be seen as romantically involved, but the darkness and the snow gave them anonymity enough to stand arm-in-arm. And maybe Earth and this holiday about love—not romantic love, if she understood correctly, but an all-encompassing compassion for one's fellow sentient beings that was so foreign to her and every other Vorta—maybe that had something to do with it, as well. Taboos didn't seem quite so important, not with the colored lights twinkling between snowflakes and the winter wind whispering around corners. "The tradition, if you're so inclined, is to put a dead tree in one's home and place gifts under it."

"A dead tree?"

"It wouldn't be a treasured tradition if it made any sense."

"I suppose there's a certain truth to that." He shot her a bright smile and added, "I believe they also sing specific holiday songs and consume hot drinks, mostly with alcohol—neither of which will mean much to us, but I've been meaning to try hot chocolate with…what do they call it? Whipped cream?"

Giving him a startled look, she asked, "You read about their holiday?"

His smile became slightly crooked. "I'm glad to see I can still surprise _you_."

"I never made any claims otherwise." Impulsively, she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek quickly, defying every proscription on public affection that had been drilled into her over the centuries. "Merry Christmas, Weyoun."

He raised one of her hands to his lips, brushing them across her knuckles. "And the same to you, Eris."

She interlaced her fingers through his. "I think we're being seduced by the Federation."

"That," he said with a slight smile, "is what makes them so insidious."

The square was emptying again and the night felt suddenly very quiet. The snowfall seemed to be slowing, and Eris glanced upwards. Through a small break in the clouds, a bright light shone, and she squinted hard at it before realizing that her weak eyesight was picking out the planetary conjunction of Sol Two, Four, and Five. Turning her gaze back to Weyoun, she said, "I have a gift for you, which I suppose technically I can give you without putting it under a tree first."

Weyoun looked at her, that half-smile on his face that she supposed would never stop making her stomach twist pleasantly. "I'm sure we can find a tree _somewhere_ on this planet tonight."

Meeting his smile with one of her own, she replied, "And some hot chocolate, no doubt." For a moment, she wondered if she should tell him about mistletoe, then decided that in the privacy of the ambassadorial apartments, they wouldn't need it. The thought made her smile a little more, and when Weyoun raised a questioning eyebrow at her, she just shook her head, keeping it to herself.

They turned to leave, their hands clasped together between them, with Notre Dame towering and silent at their backs, while Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone, and snow fell on snow across Paris.


End file.
